


Little Bit of Change

by chronicallynervouschild



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicallynervouschild/pseuds/chronicallynervouschild
Summary: Logan doesn't usually text a one-night stand after the fact, but they usually don't stay the night, either. After Logan finds out about Virgil's addiction, he's determined to help, no matter what.
Relationships: Analogical - Relationship, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	1. One-Night Stands and Fresh Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter content warning: Mentions of drugs and drug abuse; brief description of drug usage; mentions of sex and sexual activity; sexual flirting; overall more adult themes

Logan wakes up slowly, an unfamiliar sense of calm taking over as he slowly blinks his eyes open. He’s in his apartment, same as always, but there’s someone beside him this time, sharing his bed, and Logan is just. . . content. No, he might not remember his bed partner’s name right now, but who cares?

A quiet, sleepy moan leaves the other man as he shifts closer, his warm breath staining Logan’s skin. Smiling to himself, Logan wraps his arm around the man’s body, drawing him nearer, his skin buzzing as the man hums against his neck.

“Mornin’,” the man murmurs, voice raspy but rich as honey, and Logan can’t quite get enough of it.

“Good morning,” he says calmly, gently running his fingers along the man’s arm. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” the man chuckles. “You’re really comfy.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, the corners of his lips curling at the compliment. “As are you.”

“You were really good last night,” the man adds, snuggling in further.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I haven’t had that good in forever.”

Logan is suddenly flooded with memories from the night before. The man’s pale skin, slick with sweat, his eyes rolling back into his head, his nails digging into Logan’s back, and he remembers his name, remembers saying it all breathy, desperate, and full of want. Virgil.

“I have to agree with you,” Logan says, clearing his throat to get his mind off the memories. “Last night was. . . pleasing.”

Virgil smiles into Logan’s side, his eyes still closed as he clings to the remnants of sleep. “I’m glad,” he says truthfully, inhaling Logan’s pleasant scent, the smell of fresh linens and cologne that stuck to his skin from his clothes. “Ugh, I could just stay here forever.”

“Impractical, but not unideal,” Logan agrees. “Would you like to borrow some clothes? I was planning on washing ours.”

“Really?” Virgil grins again. “That’s so sweet. Sure, I’ll borrow some clothes.”

Logan smiles again before sitting up, slipping his arm out from beneath Virgil despite his whiny protests, and standing up entirely. He blushes slightly but ignores Virgil’s wolf whistle as he walks over to his dresser, grabbing a clean pair of boxers, shorts and a hoodie, tugging the clothes on before turning back around. Virgil is peeking from under his tattooed arm, the blanket slipping off his frame to reveal his indented V-line and the hollows of his hips. A lazy grin is spread across his face, his purple bangs fanning across the pillow beneath him, and he looks effortlessly beautiful.

“Nice view?” Virgil asks, smirking knowingly, but Logan just raises an eyebrow.

“Eh,” he says teasingly. “You can just take whatever you want.”

“Bathroom?”

“Right across the hall. The laundry room is in the basement of the complex, so I’ll try to be quick. Help yourself to food if you get around to it.”

“All right.” Virgil stands up, dragging the bedsheet with him to cover his waist. He walks up to Logan, balancing on the balls of his feet to place a sweet kiss on his lips, his eyes sparkling with life and mischief. “Thank you.”

“The towels are in the closet in the bathroom,” Logan adds, leaning in to give Virgil another kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

Virgil waves him off, rifling through his bureau for clean clothes while Logan strips the bed and takes the dirty sheets, shoving them in the hamper with his dirty clothes, as well as the outfit Virgil wore the previous day. The shower is already running by the time he leaves his apartment, taking the elevator the five floors down to get to the basement. No one else is down there, so Logan stuffs all the dirty laundry into a washer, setting an alarm on his phone so he knows when to come back and change the laundry out, before taking the elevator back to the fourth floor to his apartment.

By the time he returns, the water is off again, and he decides to make some coffee while waiting. Virgil steps out moments later, wearing a T-shirt that advertises the college Logan graduated from and some gray sweatpants. His purple hair is still damp, sticking up in different directions, and Logan puts a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh.

“Oh, shut up,” Virgil says fondly. “Not all of us can have perfect hair and a perfect body like you.”

“I am far from perfect, I can assure you.”

“Well, at least you’re good to look at.” Virgil gives him a pointed once-over, chuckling at Logan’s little blush before sitting at the table situated just outside of the kitchen. “Seriously, where has this eye candy been all my life?”

“All right,” Logan says in a tone that tells Virgil to stop, and the purple-haired man laughs at Logan’s awkwardness. “Coffee?”

“Mm, yes please.”

Logan fills two mugs, handing one to Virgil and keeping one for himself as he takes the seat opposite Virgil. He doesn’t realize Virgil is staring at him until the man laughs right in the middle of Logan taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh my gosh,” Virgil giggles through the sleeves of his shirt. “That mug is amazing.”

Logan looks at his mug to see what Virgil is talking about. It’s a plain black mug with the words “Fuck Off” written on it in white. On the bottom of the mug is a picture of a middle finger, so when he tips the mug to drink from it, he inadvertently flips people off.

“Did you see yours?” Logan asks, pointing to Virgil’s mug for emphasis. It’s a white mug with a colored picture of dinosaurs smoking cigarettes. Above the picture, written in a similar font to that of comic strips, says “The real reason dinosaurs went extinct”, and Virgil laughs when he sees it.

“Where did you get these?” he demands. “They’re hilarious.”

“From my friend,” Logan replies. “For Christmas gifts, most likely. I almost never have guests over, so you’re the first to ask about them.”

Until Logan’s alarm goes off, the two talk idly. Usually Logan is so awkward with small talk, never knowing what people want to talk about, but with Virgil, it’s easy. He doesn’t ever get the feeling that he’s boring Virgil, and he doesn’t feel self conscious about his speech patterns. He knows he talks more formally than most, but he just can’t help it, and Virgil doesn’t make fun of him for it, which is a relief.

“So what do you do for work, Mr. Six Pack?” Virgil asks as Logan hands him his mug refill.

“I’m a teacher,” Logan responds, settling on the couch, where the two moved to after Logan returned from putting the laundry in the dryer.

“Ooh, what do you teach?”

“Physics and calculus, at the high school. I also studied English in college, so I can fill in for English classes now and again.

“That’s impressive,” Virgil says. “I always did terribly in school, especially with math. Even now I have to use the calculator on my phone to multiply double-digit numbers, though that’s most likely just due to laziness.”

“Are you attending college?”

“I was. I’m just kind of broke right now, so I’m taking a break until I can pay for another semester.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Logan says, frowning. Do his parents not support him? “What were you studying?”

“Art,” Virgil replies, tucking his legs under him. “I still take art classes, but they’re through the community, not the college. They’re less expensive, but they’re also less professional. I just do it so I don’t forget how to paint.”

“Well, see there, I never understood art,” Logan says. “Music was always easier for me, since music is so mathematical, but art was like a different language to me. Numbers always made more sense.”

“I just like art because there’s no wrong answer. There’s just how you see what’s right in front of you.”

“Do you work in abstracts?”

“Not really. I do portraits. Nudes, specifically. I love how elegant and sophisticated a human body can look with just the right pastels. I also do body-canvas art sometimes too.”

“Body-canvas?”

“I don’t know if that’s the technical term for it, but I also paint on people. I use their bodies as a canvas. It’s usually for someone’s Instagram, but it gives me some extra money here and there, which is really helpful. I don’t know, I like it.”

“It sounds fascinating,” Logan admits, intrigued by this world of art that he’s completely unexposed to. “You could paint me sometime, if you’d like?”

Virgil grins, a grin that takes up his whole face, and his eyes sparkle. “I’d love to,” he says, and he’s unable to fight off the grin for a little bit after that.

The laundry finally ends, and Logan collects it from the basement. He gives Virgil his clothes, letting him change back so he can return home. His own clothes suit him better, but Logan can’t deny how much he enjoyed seeing Virgil in his clothes, slightly too big for his slender frame.

“Well,” Virgil says, peeking at Logan through his vibrant, now-dry, sangria bangs. “I’m off.”

“It was a pleasure having you here,” Logan says, feeling some awkwardness set in as he glances down at his feet.

Virgil hums in agreement. “Maybe. . . I can come back sometime?”

Logan’s head snaps up as he meets Virgil’s gaze. “Would you like to?”

“Well, I gotta hold good on my promise to paint you, don’t I? Do you want my number?”

“Yes! Ah, sure,” Logan stammers, trying to keep himself from looking too eager. It’s just a phone number, after all. Virgil’s phone number.

“Here,” Virgil says, and he grabs a pen from his pocket, scribbling the numbers on the back of Logan’s hand. He gives Logan a crooked grin when he’s done. “No excuse not to text me now, handsome.”

Virgil smiles all the way out of the complex, replaying the morning in his head. He doesn’t have mornings this good anymore, not with people like Logan. Sure, he’s awkward and nerdy, but he’s also hot as hell, and he actually seems to like Virgil. A big mistake, for sure, but Virgil doesn’t mind being a little selfish, just this once.

“Virge!”

He turns quickly, the awestruck smile gone in seconds. “Hey, Re.”

“Where’d you go off to last night?” Remus asks, falling into step beside Virgil. “We couldn’t find you.”

“Just went home with someone,” Virgil says casually, slipping back into the role he’s familiar with.

“Ooh, do tell! Was he good?”

“He was amazing. I actually stayed the night.”

Remus’s eyes practically pop from his skull. “You? Stayed the night? Holy shit, he must’ve been good, you’ve never done that before!”

“I know.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it. Hey, how’s your supply?”

“Good for a few more days, but I'll need some more soon.”

“Do you have the money?”

“I have half. I’m planning on doing more portraits, though, so I should be able to pay for the rest in a week or two.” He rolls his eyes at Remus’s intent stare. “C’mon, Re, you know I’m good for the money.”

“Just don’t fall too far behind,” Remus says lowly. “You know how that turns out.”

Virgil feels a shudder creep up his spine. “I know. I won’t. Don’t worry about that.”

“Come this way, then, I have some stuff you can have.”

Virgil follows Remus down an alley, walking a little until they’re out of view. Once they’re safely tucked behind buildings, Remus grabs a small bag of pale yellow pills from his pocket, passing them to Virgil. Once they’re safely tucked in his pocket, he grabs all the money he has to pay for it with, handing it over, where Remus shoves it into his pocket.

“Hey, I got some samples for you,” he says, searching his pockets once more. “The King’s had the labs working on something new.”

“What is it?” Virgil asks, instantly intrigued at the thought of something new.

“People’re calling them golds,” Remus says, pulling another bag from his pocket with two golden pills sitting in the bag, a much deeper color than the yellows in Virgil’s pocket. “Fifty for these. King suggests you cut them in half and only take half pills. Apparently these are much stronger than yellows.”

“I don’t have fifty on me,” Virgil says, though he eyes the gold pills closely.

“That’s fine, just pay me when you catch up on the rest of your payment. He’s not so strict with these, not until they really hit the market.”

“Thanks.” He shoves the gold pills into his pocket too, excited to take them, even though he already took a dose right before he showered at Logan’s place. “I gotta get to work. Text later?”

“Of course,” Remus, says grinning at Virgil. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

Virgil runs home first, hiding his new stash in his secret spot, before changing into his uniform. His college fund sits right beside his drug fund, and he watches as the college fund gets smaller as the days go by. Shaking his head, he leaves the apartment for work, looking forward to trying those gold pills. He’ll have to finish the yellow ones first, though. Maybe he can double up a bit? The doses are already not lasting so long, so there’s nothing wrong with having two for a stronger effect.

Right before he gets to the grocery store he works at, his phone chimes in his pocket. An unknown number is there, but the message is written so Virgil knows exactly who sent it.

Unknown: I had a wonderful time with you. Are you still up to paint me?

Virgil smirks as he types out a response. Of course I am handsome ;) anytime


	2. Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warning: Mentions of drugs and drug abuse; descriptions of drug usage; addiction; explicit description of drug effects; implied sex and sexual activity; overall more mature themes

Of course. While he’s at work, a serious person thing, he has to be disturbed. He shouldn’t even be on his phone! Students aren’t supposed to have them, and it’s likely unprofessional for him to be on his phone, much less for something like this. He’s using the school’s wifi, for crying out loud!

Please stop sending me nudes.

Virgil’s response is instantaneous. Aww, don’t you like them? :(

I do, but I am at work and this is inappropriate.

Of course. How professional. Virgil’s response is another explicit photo of himself.

“Mr. Smart?”

Logan drops his phone in his lap quickly, looking up and giving the student in front of him his attention. “What do you need, Thomas?”

“This problem doesn’t make any sense to me. Can you explain it?”

So Logan ignores his phone and the content it contains in favor of helping his student. He tries to practice some more self restraint for the rest of the class, but he can’t last much longer once he sees that Virgil has replied.

Want me to stop by tonight? I’ve got my paints

His heartbeat speeds up as he types out a response. Sounds wonderful. Tonight at five?

Sure thing. See you then sexy ;)

Good lord. He’s going to be the death of Logan.

Virgil smirks as he sets his phone aside, imagining Logan’s red, flustered face. The past five days of them texting, Virgil has taken advantage of teasing Logan, not caring how much the man sees of his body, considering he’s already seen it all before. Still, it’s fun, and he’ll probably be doing much more of that as time passes.

Lazily, he pulls some pants on, shuffling around his home for something to do. No work to be done today, except for going to see Logan later. His eyes drift to his secret stash, his yellow pills almost all out. Even when he’s been doubling up the past couple days, there are still some left, but he can’t help it—the prospect of something new is too much to resist.

Grabbing a knife from the kitchen, Virgil takes one of the gold pills and cuts it as neatly in half as he can. A light dusting of powder lands on the table, and he presses his tongue against it so nothing goes to waste. After tucking the second half back into its bag, Virgil sets the first half on his tongue, sitting back on his bed and waiting.

He can feel the high growing, creeping slow and steady. Colors fill the edges of his vision, and energy pumps through his veins as his heartbeat quickens. The only difference, though, is it doesn’t stop like the yellows. Instead, it keeps growing, stopping occasionally, just long enough for Virgil to get used to it, before it starts up again.

“Damn,” he murmurs to himself, rubbing his eyes. “The King’s been hard at work.”  
He eyes his paints and easel from across the room and springs to his feet, grabbing a brush and his paints and getting right to work. Colors swirl and blend, bleeding into one another, and Virgil swears he can see colors he’s never seen before. By the time he’s done, he’s panting heavy through his chest, paint smeared on his skin, and he stares in wonder at what he’s created.

“Definitely need to buy more of these,” he whispers in wonder. “If Logan pays me, I can make up my payment this last time around. Work some extra shifts, do more paintings.”

Suddenly his eyes drift over to his college fund, sitting right beside his drug fund. It’s just a little money, enough to pay back. It’s not like he’s been going to college recently anyway, all his classes are too expensive, and who needs college anyway? Going to college won’t secure his future as an artist. It won’t hurt, will it?

Logan can’t remember the last time he was so nervous. Social interactions are always a deterrent, a clear indication when one notices his only close friend is Patton, and they’re only friends because Patton didn’t give up on him when they were roommates in college. Even now, Logan feels like he’s holding Patton back, or Patton is only his friend out of pity, so he’s not particularly well-versed with this sort of thing.

Still, with Virgil it’s different. He’s never made Logan feel weird. These past few days of talking, while few, have also been plentiful. Virgil doesn’t make fun of him for his speech patterns (though he does tease him for texting in full sentences, periods included, because why wouldn’t he? That’s how sentences work), he was kind and open-minded when Logan talked about his struggles with autism and OCD, and he seems to be a fountain of compliments, however lust-driven they may be. He makes Logan feel better.

The doorbell makes Logan jump, and he rushes to the door before realizing he should probably look more casual. He runs a hand through his hair as he opens the door, hoping to ground himself, and he almost freezes in shock when he spots Virgil. Has he always been this beautiful? Of course he has, but how did Logan forget in such great detail?

Virgil’s eyes trail downwards, and Logan realizes that with his arm up, his shirt has ridden up too. Clearing his throat, embarrassed, he drops his arm and fixes his shirt.

“Hey there, Mr. Six Pack,” Virgil says with a wink. “How I’ve missed that.”

“Really?” Logan asks, and he blushes as his voice squeaks.

“Definitely.” Virgil steps into the apartment, making himself right at home by setting down his bag. “So, where is this happening?”

“Living room?” Logan suggests, and he drags the coffee table in the center out of the way. He helps Virgil lay down newspapers to minimize mess, since the non-toxic, washable paint seems to only really apply to skin.

“Shirt off, big boy,” Virgil says, slipping his own jacket off to reveal a black, sleeveless shirt with the letters “MCR” written in white across his chest. Logan does as he’s told, setting his shirt beside Virgil’s jacket, and he frowns as Virgil turns.

“Are you okay?” He reaches out and grabs Virgil’s arm, looking closer at the thin, silvery lines running across his pale skin.

“Oh yeah, it was a long time ago,” Virgil says dismissively. “I’m past that now.”  
“Are you sure?” Logan asks, feeling a mix of awkward and concerned. “We can talk about it, if you like?”

“I’m fine, Logan, I promise.” He smiles for good measure. “Now lie down. I think I’m gonna paint your front. Don’t wanna let those muscles go to waste.”

Logan rolls his eyes as he lays on his back, watching as Virgil lines little paint containers up on the ground beside him, in a full array of colors. He organizes the brushes next, glancing between Logan and the paints to decide what to do. Maybe some kind of colorful, Van Gogh style? That’s Virgil’s preferred style of painting anyway.

“This may be a bit cold,” Virgil warns, taking the red paint first.

Logan tense slightly at the chill, but he’s more focused on the sensation. Even as a child, Logan didn’t make messes in art class, and he found finger painting to be gross, so he never really got to know what paint feels like. It’s a strange feeling, but also not unwelcome, though that’s probably due to Virgil’s hovering presence.

As Virgil works, he lets his mind lead his hand, feeling like he’s watching from the couch instead of actually painting. The high is still there, strong as ever, even though it’s been two hours since he took that half pill, and he can feel energy coursing again as he paints. Colors dance and pictures flash, and he tries to recreate them, but they keep changing and morphing into something new, something else to replicate. This is just half a pill. What does a whole pill do?  
He mixes colors, adding layers of paint as new inspirations strike, covering every bit of skin that he can reach. Logan watches Virgil paint, watches the calm, relaxed expression on his face, and he can’t help but smile. He’s felt as if Virgil has consistently kept his guard up, which Logan doesn’t feel hurt about anyway. Now, though, he’s seeing through Virgil’s guards, and he really enjoys what he sees.

An unidentifiable amount of time passes before Virgil sits back on his knees, rolling his shoulders and flexing his knuckles. He looks at his work, nodding in approval, slightly out of breath from it all.

“Finished,” Virgil says, and he meets Logan’s eyes now, for the first time since he started working. He freezes suddenly, trapped under his gaze, and he realizes his guard was down the entire time.

Bad, bad, bad, bad.

“How is it?” Logan asks, craning his neck to try and look.

“Go see for yourself,” Virgil says, flashing his easy grin as he tries to hide himself again. “I’m gonna go wash my hands before I touch something.”

The two get up, walking to the bathroom to clean up. Logan gasps, jaw slack as he stares in the mirror at the incredible work Virgil just made effortlessly. It seems to be a landscape picture, his stomach covered in greens and dots of color that are probably flowers, his chest painted in the deep colors of a setting sun. Something warm blooms from his heart as he looks at Virgil’s reflection in the mirror, the purple-haired artist scrubbing his hands clean, and a tiny smirk quirks at the corner of his mouth.

Gingerly, Logan stands behind Virgil, draping his arms loosely over the slightly shorter man. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs in Virgil’s ear, his voice rumbling in his chest, and he grins as Virgil’s posture visibly stiffens.

“Thanks,” Virgil says, turning slowly to look at Logan, his breath hitching in his throat as he sees the passion burning in Logan’s eyes. He’s quick to meet it, grabbing Logan’s neck and pulling him close, kissing him hungrily, and he doesn’t protest when Logan lifts him onto the sink counter, grabbing and kissing and burning on the inside.

“Bed,” Logan gasps, voice hoarse. “Right now.”

“What are you waiting for?” Virgil whispers, wrapping his legs around Logan’s waist as he lifts Virgil from the counter, walking them to his bedroom. He drops Virgil on the bed, crawling over him, and Virgil’s breathing is erratic, his pupils blown out. Logan wonders if he’s in a similar state himself.

The energy between them seems to explode, and the drug coursing through Virgil’s veins is all too much as he bucks his hips up to meet Logan’s. His clothes are too constricting and it takes too long to take them off. He can’t get enough of Logan’s skin, every touch burning into his soul. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings, but there’s too much going on and Virgil can’t find it in himself to complain.

After nails on skin, teeth and dark red and purple bruises, and a burst of energy too strong to keep quiet, Virgil and Logan lie together, exhausted. Virgil keeps his eyes closed, coming down from two highs. The gold pills and Logan, all in one? He’s living a life he doesn’t deserve.

“Hey Virge?” Logan mumbles, the paint on his chest smeared on the bedsheets and Virgil.

“Yeah, Lo?”

“Do you want to come back tomorrow? For dinner?”

Alarms go off in Virgil’s head, but they’re muffled, like he’s hearing them from underwater. “Dinner?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m right here, L.”

“I know.” Logan pulls Virgil close. “But I miss you.”

Virgil’s eyes open slowly, looking down at the half-sleeping person in his arms. His mind is at war with his heart, a heated battle Logan is completely ignorant to, one that Virgil can’t pick a side on. Finally, tired of the back and forth of his internal monologue, he pulls Logan even closer, snuggling into him.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, it's Alex, the guy who can't figure out how to do italics (which is what the texting is supposed to be, but oh well). Thoughts? Complaints? Anything else? I'll take it all. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Wishful Thinking

Virgil doesn’t remember the last time he was so nervous. It’s not like this is some huge deal; they’re just gonna eat food, hang out, whatever. So why does this feel more meaningful than sex?

Sighing, he reaches into his pocket and digs out the other half of the gold pill he used yesterday, studying it for a moment before popping it into his mouth. Whatever is in these things, they certainly help him calm down, so they can’t be that bad, right?

After he manages to settle down a little, he knocks on the door, waiting for Logan to answer. He’s not waiting long before the door opens and Logan is standing there, smiling at him, dressed in dark blue jeans, a short-sleeved, black, collared shirt, and a striped blue tie, his dark hair pushed back neatly. Virgil’s stomach does a little flip when Logan smiles at him, and he has to catch his breath before speaking.

“You’re looking fancy,” he remarks, stepping into Logan’s apartment. “Was I supposed to get dressed up?”

“This is what I normally wear,” Logan says. “I just didn’t have much time to change before preparing our meal.”

That’s when Virgil notices a really good smell wafting from the kitchen. “What are we having?” he asks, smiling as Logan pulls a chair back for him to sit.

“Just a pasta dish. Ziti pasta with ham, chicken, peas, green onions, carrots, basil, tomatoes, and a cream-based sauce. Does that sound enjoyable?”

“It sounds amazing.”

Logan’s own relieved smile matches Virgil’s reassuring one, and he quickly rushes into the kitchen to bring out their bowls and two glasses of water. The table isn’t set with his best china, nor are they eating by candlelight, but the kitchen is wiped clean and the air freshener creates a nice vibe over the two diners.

They talk about work and hobbies while they eat. Logan mentions his friend he’s had since childhood, and Virgil mentions Remus as sparingly as he can manage. Overall, he has a fun time, and the drug in his system helps him relax and enjoy the evening.

About halfway through the meal, Virgil’s stomach gurgles and his throat constricts. He stops eating suddenly, squinting as if in extreme concentration, trying to figure out what his body is trying to tell him.

“Hey, Logan?” Virgil asks, his voice a tiny bit strained. “May I use your bathroom for a hot minute?”

“Of course,” Logan replies, slightly puzzled by Virgil’s phrasing, but he remains quiet as Virgil dashes from his seat into the bathroom. The fan goes on, and seconds later the sink is running, but Logan still hears a sound he can’t properly identify, so he gets up to investigate, approaching the bathroom quietly.

“Virgil?” Logan calls through the door. “Are you alright?”

He hears the sound again, and this time he deduces that Virgil is retching. Quickly, he throws the door open, seeing Virgil hunched over the toilet, heaving. He rushes to turn off the water before kneeling down beside Virgil, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s okay, Virgil, you’re going to be alright,” Logan says gently. “Just take a deep breath, it’ll be okay.”

Once his stomach is emptied, Virgil sits there, trembling, his eyes wide and darting back and forth. There’s a sour taste in his mouth and his head feels light as he tries to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says sorrowfully, and Virgil turns to him and frowns.

“You? I just puked in your bathroom! I’m the one who should be sorry!”

“But you’re my guest. I’m responsible for your wellbeing while you’re in my care.”

“This isn’t your fault, Lo.”

“Can I get you anything? Some water?”

“Water sounds great.”

Logan presses a light kiss to Virgil’s forehead before dashing into the kitchen, filling a fresh glass with clean water, and returning. Virgil’s already rinsed his mouth out in the sink by the time Logan returns, and he gulps down the glass as quickly as he can.

“You can go sit down, I’ll clean up,” Logan says, practically pushing Virgil out of the room. The man stumbles into the living room, taking a seat on the couch, and he removes his jacket to cool off a bit.

Logan wipes down the rim of the toilet, checking for any other mess before he flushes it. That’s when he actually looks in the toilet, and frowns when he seems little clumps of semi-dissolved powder, yellow in color. Perhaps Virgil is on medication? But Logan’s talked about his own OCD and autism and Virgil never mentioned being on medication himself. Perhaps he has to obtain the meds illegally? In which case, that is very dangerous and Logan is willing to help.

However, a small part of him tells him it’s worse than this, so he sneakily takes a picture before flushing the contents down the drain. Try as he might to talk himself out of it, he saves the picture to his camera roll, returning to the living room to keep Virgil company.

Determined to redeem the night, the two share an orange and watch Pirates of the Caribbean, sharing a blanket and everything. Virgil rests his head on Logan’s shoulder, and Logan’s head on Virgil’s head, and the two hold hands under the blanket, and yes, the evening worked out perfectly anyway.

The next day, a weekend, while Virgil is off at work, Logan takes a walk. He doesn’t usually walk this way, the littered streets, graffiti, and children playing in the road much more rampant than the quiet, neat street he lives on. However, there’s someone he needs to see, and he would like to do so as soon as possible.

He walks down to Jefferson Park, an old park practically abandoned by the county. Teenagers are known for doing drugs here, so dealers are frequent visitors as well. Even today, a gray day that promises rain, there are people milling about, acting as though they aren’t up to suspicious, illegal behavior, but Logan ignores them as he sees the man he’s looking for.

“Logan,” the man says in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“I’d like to speak with you,” Logan says, glancing at the man beside him, one he doesn’t recognize.

“Go on, Re, we’ll catch up later,” the man says, and his friend walks off. “Let’s take a walk, Lo. Lots of prying eyes and ears.”

The two walk from the park, walking casually down the street. Both are well put-together, so they likely look out of place, but they don’t look like delinquents either, so that’s a plus.

“What do you need?”

“I met someone, Jan. I like him quite a bit, and things have been going well, but yesterday he came over for dinner and he got sick. At first, I thought nothing of it, but then I saw this.”

Logan retrieves his phone, pulling up the picture. Janus’s face twists in disgust. “Is that puke?”

“Yes, now please pay attention.” He zooms in on the powdery clumps. “This. I think he’s doing drugs. Can you confirm?”

Janus inspects the picture despite his initial disgust, and he looks at it longer than he needs to, hesitant to answer Logan’s question. “Powder-based drugs are fairly common in this town,” Janus says finally. “The King manufactures all the drugs here, and he seems to prefer powder-based ones.”

“The King?” Logan presses, frowning.

“He’s the biggest drug lord in the city. He’s a regional drug lord, too, but he’s based here, so he’s most prevalent here. No one knows his name, and only a handful of people have actually seen him. Rumor is he’s a big city official who wants to keep his identity secret.”

“What kind of drugs does he manufacture?”

“Hallucinogens, drugs with similar effects to ecstasy and cocaine. I don’t know the specifics. I just deal reds and greens.”

“What does that mean?”

Discreetly, Janus shows Logan a small bag of red pills before tucking them back into his pocket, secure. “The pills. They’re color-coded. Reds, greens and blues are the weakest, basically just marijuana in pill form. Not too strong, not too addictive, mostly teenagers buy them. The next level up are pinks, oranges, yellows and purples, and they’re stronger and more addictive. Most drug users here use these, the pinks being the weakest and the yellows being the strongest.”

“Is that what he’s using?” Logan asks, glancing at the picture still on his phone, still in his hand.

“Well, that’s what I thought too, but the yellows are pale, so the color would’ve been completely dissolved by then. Besides, it doesn’t look like a whole pill. I wonder if he’s taking golds.”

“Golds?”

“The King’s newest drug. They’re just a darker shade of yellow, and they just came off the market. I heard he’s been giving out samples. They’re supposed to be much stronger and much more addictive. Of course, we aren’t aware of any side effects yet, since these samples are just the first batch, but if your friend is trying them, I’m assuming he’s an experienced drug user.”

Logan stops walking, and Janus stops beside him, glancing up and down the street as he does. Logan shakes his head and rubs his eyes beneath his glasses, feeling an exhausting mix of tired and worried. “What can I do?”

“If you call the police on him, they’ll throw him in jail instead of rehab,” Janus says quietly. “My experience with drug users, especially with users as experienced as your friend, is they only care about drugs. They’ll do all they can to exploit the people in their lives for another dose. Maybe your friend is different, but I wouldn’t bet on it too strongly.”

“I want to help him, Jan.”

Janus pauses. “Look, Lo, I’m on the illegal side of this. Isn’t Patton a behavioral therapist? Why don’t you ask him? He knows how these things work better than I do, and it’ll look less suspicious if you ask him. He probably knows the protocol better than I do, anyway.”

Logan sighs again. He wanted to keep from asking Patton for as long as possible, especially if Virgil is doing drugs illegally, but it seems pretty unavoidable at this rate. Janus is right; Patton knows all the ins and outs in a more legal setting, and he’ll be of more help because of it. Who knows? Maybe Virgil could even see him for counselling so they can put all of this behind them.

Wishful thinking.

Virgil doesn’t remember the last time he was so furious. Raw anger bubbles just beneath the surface, laser-sharp flames roaring in his eyes, and his nails are digging into the palms of his hands, leaving crescent moon-shaped indents in their wake. Of course, the fury masks something else entirely, something even more primal, more inescapable, more suffocating.

Fear.

Virgil’s apartment is in shambles, furniture overturned, clothes strewn about, items broken. There’s glass on the floor due to a shattered window, likely the entry point of whoever broke into his home, and both the drug funds and his college fund are bone dry. The only money he has left is the paycheck in his pocket, and panic grips tight at his throat.  
Virgil doesn’t care about the broken chair or the spilled paint. He doesn’t care about the missing television or the shattered lamp. He cares that he is suddenly penniless, and he was supposed to meet Remus again today. He can’t show up empty-handed.

“They took everything,” Virgil hisses under his breath as he frantically searches for his money. “Every fucking cent.”

Maybe Remus will understand. They’re friends, right? Virgil doesn’t go to anyone else for the pills, and Virgil is always the first one Remus goes to. Maybe he’ll help him out, give him something to tide him over until he can pay everything off. Yeah. There’s a plan.

So Virgil changes quickly, tossing his work uniform aside and not bothering to lock the front door, since there’s already another way to get in. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, blocking out any other sound in his ears, and he can vaguely feel the steady thrumming in his head as he speed-walks to their usual meeting place, a series of alleys and side-roads not too far from the old trainyard. He tries to calm himself down, but the worry and fear is too much to swallow, so he gives up on being relaxed.

Remus shows up moments later, grinning crookedly as usual. He frowns slightly when he sees Virgil, pausing a couple feet further away than usual.

“What’s wrong, emo?” Remus asks, casting a quick glance at their surroundings for safety.

“Someone broke into my apartment,” Virgil says, out of breath, even though he’s had plenty of time to catch it again. “They stole all my money, everything. I searched everywhere but it’s all gone.”

“Oh damn, that sucks,” Remus says, watching Virgil closely.

“I just need my usual stuff, something to hold me over,” Virgil continues quickly. “As soon as I get the money, I’ll pay you back, I promise!” But Remus is already shaking his head.  
“Virge, I’d love to, but I can’t. The King isn’t letting us spot people who are a hundred in debt, and you owe at least one-fifty. You gotta pay up before you can get more.” He shrugs at Virgil’s despairing face. “They’re not my rules, dude. I’m sorry.”

Once Remus knows Virgil doesn’t have anything else to say, he leaves, the emo left stranded in the old train station. The blood pumping in his ears is loud again, drowning out even his own thoughts. What can he do? Where can he go? He’s out of money, and his rent is probably due soon. He thought Remus was his friend, but apparently, he was wrong. He doesn’t know any of his coworkers well enough to go to them, and he doesn’t have any other people in his life he can go to.

Except for one. One particular nerd with a great ass who happens to like what he sees in Virgil, enough to have him over three times, and one of those times didn’t even result in sex. Maybe he can help Virgil out, just a little something to keep him on his feet. Virgil ignores the tiny part of himself that says he shouldn’t trick Logan that way, and he shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking. He’s all out of other options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Predictions? Things you liked/disliked? Either way, thank you for reading, it means a lot.


	4. A Legal Standpoint

The text itself isn’t surprising, but its content is. Virgil is rarely serious or stern, his texts always lowercase with minimal punctuation, and usually a winking emoticon or a flirty comment to top it all off. However, this time there’s none of that. No silliness, no funny business, none of what Virgil usually offers.

'i need a place to stay. can i come by yours tonight?'

Despite the dangers of texting while on the road, Logan types out a quick response before the light turns green again. 'Of course. I’m not home presently, but I will let you know once I am. You are free to stop by as long as you need.'

He can’t say anything else or ask any questions before he has to put his phone down and continue driving. Why does Virgil need somewhere to stay? Was he evicted? Did it have to do with drugs? Is Logan just overthinking everything? His conversation with Janus is still fresh in his mind, all the information he received still processing. Virgil, the King, the color-coded pills. It’s a lot for anyone to take in, but throw a crush into the mix and it gets that much more confusing.

A crush? Is that the proper assumption to make? Logan doesn’t know for sure. He can’t focus on that right now, anyway.

He finally arrives at his destination, sliding into a parking spot and locking his car once he exits. There are quite a few cars in the lot, likely people stopping on the way home for some last-minute groceries, like Patton and like himself. Maybe such a crowded location isn’t the ideal place to be, but then again, maybe it is.

Patton is waiting for Logan by the carts, scrolling through pictures of baby animals while he waits. A blinding grin crosses his face as he spots Logan, and the two exchange a brief hug in greeting.

“Hey, Lo! Glad to have you here,” Patton says cheerily. “We haven’t hung out in a grocery store in forever!”

“Freshman year,” Logan remarks, recalling their first year of college when Patton went through a breakup and the two wandered about Walmart at one in the morning. “However, I don’t plan to keep you nearly as long.”

“What’s so urgent we had to meet today?” Patton asks, grabbing a cart, passing it to Logan, and then grabbing another for himself.

“Well, I met someone recently,” Logan begins, and is quickly cut off by Patton.

“What? Logan, I’m so proud of you! What’s his name? Is he cute? How tall is he?”

“His name is Virgil, I think he’s quite attractive, and he’s shorter than me by just a bit, so probably five-foot-eight?” Logan rattles off seamlessly. “Maybe your height.”

“Aww, that’s so cute!” Patton gushes. “Virgil, that’s a really cool name!”

“Indeed,” Logan replies. “But there is something that concerns me, and I need your help to determine if my concerns are valid or not.”

“Fire away,” Patton says, stopping by the baked goods section for some muffins before the two continue on.

“He came by the other day for dinner,” Logan begins, making sure to keep his voice low and measured. “It was going very well, we were talking and having a good time, but at one point during the meal, he got sick and had to rush to the bathroom. I helped him and cleaned up after him, and I found this.” He retrieves his phone once more, showing Patton the same picture he showed Janus. Patton looks curiously, lacking the stuffy disdain Janus exhibited, and he frowns slightly as Logan zooms in.

“Are those semi-digested pills?” Patton asks quietly, having the sense to keep his voice down too.

“I believe so,” Logan says, leading Patton down the frozen foods aisle to grab some frozen soy burgers. “I asked a friend earlier, and he confirmed so, anyway. Someone you don’t   
know,” Logan adds before Patton can ask. “His work is less. . . legal than yours.”

“Gotcha,” Patton responds, nodding along in understanding. “So, Virgil is on pills? Are you sure they aren’t prescription?”

“Fairly sure. He’s had ample time to mention needing prescription medication, and while I don’t expect anyone to be particularly forward with that sort of information, he’s been very open about his financial problems, and seeing as how I have been open and honest about my own struggles with mental illness, I find it difficult to believe that he would still have reservations sharing that information with me. I worry he’s obtaining these drugs illegally, and I worry that they’d be illegal even if he had a prescription from a doctor.”

Patton gives Logan a sympathetic look. “Well, unless I see what he’s taking, I can’t know for sure. Your friend was confident, though, that Virgil is an abuser?”

“Yes.” Logan stops at the produce aisle to get spinach, tomatoes and avocado while Patton gets grapes. “I want to help him, Pat, but I don’t know how to.”  
“And getting help for drug users is tricky,” Patton agrees. “Most of the time, they end up in prison, which doesn’t offer them the help they need. Honestly, I think the only thing you can do is try and convince him to sign himself into rehab, before something bad happens.”

Logan sighs in resignation. Of course, that’s the only option he really has, but will it work? Unlikely. Janus said it before, despite how much Logan wants it to be untrue. Drug addicts don’t really care about anything except their addictions, and getting help is the exact opposite of what they want. Will Virgil really be any different?

“I’ll help however I can,” Patton says sympathetically, putting a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I work at the rehab center sometimes, so if you can convince Virgil to go, I’ll be sure to work with him myself to make sure he’s okay. Does that help?”

Logan nods, smiling despite still feeling slightly upset. “Yes. Thank you, Patton.”

“Of course.” Patton grins reassuringly. “Now come on. Let’s enjoy the rest of this shopping trip together. It’s been too long!”

The walk from the trainyard to Logan’s house is much further than Virgil thought. It’s on the other side of town, but has town always been this big? He’ll get there by dark at this rate. Maybe he can ask Logan to pick him up? He did say he isn’t home yet.

Finally, Virgil just decides to call him. The ringtone echoes in his ears, and he doesn’t have enough time to panic before Logan answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi Logan,” Virgil says uncertainly. “Can you come get me? I’m further away than I thought, and it’ll take me forever to get there if I walk.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to. Where are you?”

Virgil relays his location to Logan, shifting on the corner as he waits for him to appear. He zones out while he’s waiting, so he has no idea how long he actually waits, but he does know that a foreign sense of relief floods his chest when Logan’s car pulls up at the curb, his window rolling down to show who he is.

“Thanks,” Virgil says, climbing into the passenger seat of the car and pulling his seatbelt across his chest.

“Of course,” Logan says, pulling back onto the road and starting the drive home. “What are you doing all the way out here? You don’t live here, do you?”

“No, I live closer to the grocery store,” Virgil says. His palms are sweating slightly, and he realizes he never worked out a cover story to tell Logan. He can’t possibly admit that he was trying to get drugs from his dealer, but he can’t because he owes money. Most people don’t like housing known drug users. “My place was robbed so I went to meet up with a friend who lives near here, but he can’t take me in right now.”

“Your apartment was robbed?” Logan asks, chancing a quick glance to Virgil before returning his eyes to the road.

“Yeah. I got home from work and the place was trashed. I don’t feel safe going home tonight.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Logan says, his voice calm and steady, which in turn helps Virgil calm down. “Rest assured, you can stay with me until your home is secured once more.”

Virgil smiles lightly to himself. “Thanks, L.”

“You’re welcome. Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh.” He tries to remember the last meal he had. “No.”

“Me neither. We can have a light dinner and get to bed early. I do have work tomorrow, so I won’t be around much, but as I said, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

The words are spoken in a whisper, like a light summer breeze brushing past leaves high in the trees. Logan would have missed it if it weren’t for the otherwise silent car ride, and he smiles appreciatively. Whatever reservations he has towards Virgil and these recent discoveries of his, he’s happy to be in his company, and he’s honored that Virgil came to him for help. No, he may not have been Virgil’s first choice, but for barely knowing the secretive man, second isn’t bad.

When they get to Logan’s apartment complex, Virgil helps him carry groceries inside, putting them where they belong. Their dinner consists of chicken salad on pita bread, something small and light, but ultimately delicious. Virgil is used to fast food and canned goods, so something so rich and expensive is a nice treat. The company isn’t bad, either.

“You can take the bed, if you’d like,” Logan offers as they put away their dishes. “Or we can use the pull-out bed in the couch.”

“We can just share the bed. There’s nothing there I haven’t seen yet.”

Logan blushes slightly at Virgil’s little wink, clearing his throat before continuing. “Yes, but I have to get up early for work. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You won’t. I don’t mind.”

Virgil gives him a reassuring smile, not so flirty this time, and Logan returns it. “Very well. Would you like to borrow some pajamas?”

“I’d love to.”

This isn’t the first time Virgil has been to Logan’s house without the stay resulting in sex, but this is the first time they’ve shared the bed in a non-sexual way. A big part of him has no idea what to do when Logan doesn’t stare at his as he changes into his clothes, or when he sweetly tucks Virgil in before climbing in beside him. What happens now? What do people usually do?

“Are you alright?” Logan asks, picking up on Virgil’s racing thoughts despite the room being dark and silent.

“Yeah.” Virgil turns his head to look at Logan, though he can’t make out his features very well. “I’m just not used to it.”

“I can sleep somewhere else if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No.” Virgil grabs Logan’s arm and pulls it around himself. “I’m not uncomfortable. I want you to stay.”

The words are said quietly again, like when they were in the car. Logan hums in acknowledgement, nuzzling closer to Virgil, planting a light kiss on his cheek. “Then I will,” he says, and it’s not long before the two drift into a peaceful, content sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but here it is. The conflict is growing, we get to meet Patton, and I've got big plans for the next chapter. Predictions? Concerns? Anything else? Thanks for reading!


	5. In The Beginning

The headphones blared loudly in his ears, the music drowning out his other senses as he laid in bed. Downstairs, his parents fought, a horrible back and forth screaming match that would probably last an hour or longer, the both of them arguing with everything they had. Being used to it didn’t make it an easier, and he found ignoring it helped best.

His phone buzzed against his stomach, signaling an incoming message, and he checked to see who it was. The contact’s name was just the trash can emoji, but he knew who it was right away regardless. He usually used emojis in place of names so his parents didn’t ask questions about who was texting him, and it’s seemed to work.

'Where u at? Can u come hang?'

Virgil pursed his lips as he typed out a response. 'at home. y? what’s up?'

Remus’s response was almost instantaneous. 'Party at Hernandez’s. Hurry up, we’re going'

Quickly, and mostly because he had nothing else to do, Virgil tore his headphones off, the music giving way to shouting downstairs, and he tossed his phone in his pocket, tugging on his hoodie and sneakers. Hernandez, as Remus said in his text, lived closer to Remus than Virgil, so he’d have to take the car to get there. Now the question is, whose car? His   
mom’s car was nicer, but his dad would pitch a fit if Virgil took his.

Mom’s car it is.

He rushed from his room, sticking close to the walls to avoid being spotted. They were fighting in the living room, standing in the center of the room, their faces bright red as they yelled. The car keys rested on the table by the front door, and since he already had his shoes on, all he had to do was grab the keys and leave. Even when he was safely in the car, his heart was thudding with adrenaline. If he’d been caught, he likely would’ve been locked in his room for the night, so he’d better get out of there and make that night worth the punishment.

He drove away, heading first to Remus’s house before changing his direction to the party Remus mentioned. It wasn’t hard to find the house—there were tons cars parked out front, music blasting, people looking plastered as they stumbled around. Virgil parked the car about a block down, further away to prevent anyone from breaking into his car, before he texted Remus, asking where he was.

“Hey, Virge!” Remus cried as Virgil walked into the house. “Glad to see you made it!”

“Hernandez is fine with me being here?” Virgil asks, forgetting for a moment who Hernandez was.

“Yeah, man, hundred percent. I asked him myself. Anyway, come back this way, we’re all hanging out in here.”

Virgil followed Remus, and he can’t really remember anyone’s faces. The only ones he remembered were Remus, of course, and Hernandez, the guy who was throwing the party, tall with an athletic build. He was the only one who wasn’t drunk or high, but he supplied all the drinks and drugs for the people in that room.

Virgil didn’t remember much about the night. He drank a little, smoked a little, and just hung out with Remus. At some point he left, took his mom’s car to drive home, where he got pulled over by an officer, who determined he was driving drunk. They put him in the back of their car to drive him home, and at first Virgil thought they were on the way back to the party, due to the flashing lights, but then he realized it was his house, surrounded by cops.

His mind was in a haze that night, but the details he remembered. His father had killed his mother in the midst of their argument. He likely punched a window and stabbed her with the broken glass, injuring himself as well. He’d poured gasoline all over the furniture, a lighter in hand, and they said that he was found in Virgil’s room, a gun in hand. A neighbor had heard the arguing and called the cops, and they got there right before his father burned the place down. He raised is gun and they shot him before he could shoot them, and they were both dead, just like that.

He didn’t see his parents. He didn’t see the pictures that were taken, or the bodies or the blood. He saw the body bags on gurneys, he saw the lighter and the gun his father carried, and he smelled the gasoline, stained in the rugs and the furniture. The rest of the night was a blur, and those memories never came back.

There was some therapy here and there. Some anxiety medication, antidepressants, things he couldn’t afford. He was shuffled back and forth between relatives, a teenage boy who hated authority, and when he reached eighteen, he still didn’t have a place to call home. The closest he ever got to a family was spending afternoons with Remus, in Hernandez’s basement, drinking and smoking and being boys.

Virgil had nightmares. All the time. He would dream of his parents fighting, his dad breaking the window and using the broken glass to kill his mom. He would dream of his father getting the gun from his closet, walking up to Virgil’s room, walking inside to kill him. He would dream of his father lighting the house on fire before killing himself, the flames eating them all up, and he would dream that he was still alive but he couldn’t move and the screams were only heard in his head.

“You need something to help you loosen up,” Remus said. They were sitting in the apartment Remus rented out, a studio flat with a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen. Their usual supplies were spread out around them, but they hadn’t started yet.

“Like what?” Virgil asked, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “If my anxiety meds don’t work, what do you think something else will do?”

“Please, those excuses of pills? They’re probably all sugar pills, anyway. Fakes, man. That’s how they get to you. Drug you up with fake pills, make you think they’re fixing you, but really, they’re just trying to brainwash you. I’ve got something better than that. Something real.”

Remus pulled a bag from his pocket, an assortment of red, green, and blue pills inside. Virgil leaned forward, intrigued as Remus dumped a couple in his hand.

“What are they?” he asked curiously.

“They don’t have a name,” Remus replied. “Not an official name. We just name them after these colors, reds, greens, and blues. Guess who made them.”

“Who?”

Remus grinned, almost wickedly. “Hernandez.”

“Really? No way! He always said he wanted to, but I never thought he actually would.”

“Yep! He said he made them because of you. All the shit you’ve been through, and those fake ass pills they give you for your anxiety. This shit is real. Here.” Remus handed him a blue pill. “He said to start with these. Ready?”

“Bottoms up,” Virgil replied with a grin, and the two tipped their heads back, blue pills on their tongues.

Virgil shuddered, his jaw chattering as he shook violently. The air was cold, and being soaking wet didn’t help either. He felt like he could barely move, but he certainly couldn’t stay in place, either.

He didn’t really remember what happened. One moment, he was taking a red pill with Remus and some friends, the next he was outside, just off the riverbank, soaking wet, almost as if he’d fallen in. If he’d fallen off the bridge, well, he’d probably be dead right now, so he must’ve walked himself down there, but he couldn’t remember for sure.

A car passed by before slowing, reversing, and stopping beside him. The window rolled down, and inside was Hernandez, his gaze unreadable as he took Virgil in. Virgil looked back, shaking furiously, before diving into the car the moment Hernandez opened the door.

“What are you doing out here?” Hernandez asked. “I thought you were with Remus.”

“I woke up by the river,” Virgil replied, stuttering as his jaw chattered, trying to warm himself. “I’m gonna get your seats wet.”

“They’ll dry,” Hernandez responded. “We’ll go to my house so you can warm up. We don’t want you getting sick.”

Hernandez asked Virgil about the pills, working out ways to improve them. He wanted to prevent headaches, black-outs, and nausea, each a common symptom that people experienced when using his product. He took care of Virgil that night, made him feel safe and protected, and he’d looked out for him ever since then.

Until, one day, he bought up a number of department stores and became a big, important, public figure. Everyone was worried he’d stop making the pills, but he didn’t; he just stopped associating with them as much. He went from being known as Hernandez to being known as the King, and for anyone who wanted to refer to him and his drug business, the King was the only acceptable title to use. Hernandez was a wealthy man who owned lots of businesses. The King was the man who took care of them.

Virgil never saw him again. Not in person. Remus did, because Remus became a dealer and he worked with the King personally, and maybe that’s what started to separate the friends. Remus was living the high life, under the King’s wing, making money himself, while Virgil scraped together whatever he could for another hit, another fix.

Remus was right, all those years ago, when he said the King made the pills inspired by Virgil. They helped his anxiety like nothing else, helped him feel more confident, more self-assured. They also sunk their claws in, holding on tight and refusing to ever let go, just like the King. He takes care of his clients, and Virgil, the boy who was there since the beginning, has a special place in his heart.

The King won’t let him go. He won’t ever let him go. When something belongs to him, it stays that way, forever, and ever since he met Virgil, decided that Virgil had to be his, his and no one else’s, Virgil’s fate was determined. Nothing would tear them apart. Nothing would come between them. Least of all a high school teacher who is too nosy for his own good.

He’ll take care of the threat. The thing coming between them. He’ll handle everything, and then he’ll go back and care for Virgil, like he always has, because no one loves Virgil like he does, and no one ever will. Not if he has anything to say about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also posting this on Tumblr (my blog is @/chronicallynervouschild), so feel free to read from there too if you prefer that. Feedback is very much welcome, and I hope you enjoyed.


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